


Dreams

by Snooky



Category: Hogan's Heroes
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-07
Updated: 2012-11-07
Packaged: 2017-11-18 04:57:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/557136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snooky/pseuds/Snooky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My answer to Atarah Derek’s challenge to place the MASH “Dreams” episode in the HH universe. However, this time it’s not creepy! Sweet home-cooked meals? Sappy family reunions.? Nah! originally published on Fanfiction.net in 2009</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's Good Enough for James Bond

Disclaimer: Hogan's Heroes is owned by Bing Crosby Productions. No copyright infringement is intended.

Thwack.

Colonel Robert E. Hogan, serial number 0876707, senior POW officer of Stalag 13, spy, saboteur extraordinaire, lady's man and all-around swell guy suddenly found himself sprawled on the floor of his quarters instead of cuddled up snugly in his nice cold uncomfortable bunk. It took several seconds before Hogan figured out that he had actually rolled out of bed. What the hell? Feeling rather foolish, Hogan carefully listened to make sure none of his men had been awakened by the sudden noise. Secure in the knowledge that his escapade would remain secret, he quietly crawled back into bed. Good thing I decided to start sleeping in the lower bunk. I must have been having some kind of dream….

"Colonel, it must be terribly hard and boring for you to live all locked-up in that horrible prisoner-of-war camp. All alone, with just other men to keep you company."

"What, I'm sorry, what did you say?"Hogan wasn't really listening to the blonde woman standing by the window. He was more interested in her movements and how her dress flattered her perfect figure.

"The POW camp, Colonel. Don't you find it demeaning to have to answer to that horrible Kommandant, after you were in command of all those men and those planes?" The woman, Hogan didn't catch her name, carried the two glasses of wine over to the sofa. Placing the wine on the coffee table, she patted the cushion and motioned that Hogan should sit down.

Hogan, knowing full well that the woman was a well-trained Gestapo agent, shrugged and did as he was told. He was more than capable of handling any Gestapo agent that came along, even if they were female. "We all have to make sacrifices in a war." Hogan decided to ignore the wine. He moved in closer to the woman. "And we all have to adapt to a change in command." The two of them started to kiss.

"Adapt, Colonel? I understand you've adapted very well." The woman was beginning to lose her train of thought. "Perhaps," she paused as she came up for air, "perhaps you can share with me some of the secret ways you have of staying in control, of helping the allied war effort."

Hogan pulled back and laughed. "I know what you're trying to do. Listen, here's a secret. It's not going to work, but that doesn't mean we can't enjoy our time together."

The woman stopped and stared at the man who was supposed to be her sworn enemy. "Colonel, you may think you will never divulge any secrets, but that doesn't mean I will stop trying to get them out of you."

"If you want to think that, well we can continue this interrogation all evening." Hogan had hours to go before roll call.

As the two were locked in an embrace, the door to the apartment flew open. Major Hochstetter, his face red in anger, stormed into the room.

"Greta," he screamed. "How can you let this man, the most dangerous man in Germany, fool you like this? I sent you on a mission and you end up like, like…" Hochstetter was so furious; the only sound he could get out was a frustrated squeal. He moved behind the sofa and stamped his foot.

By now, Hogan had heard enough. I really can't take anymore of this Nazi twit. Without missing a beat and still locked in a passionate embrace, Hogan reached into his jacket, whipped out his luger and fired. Hochstetter dropped.

The woman pulled back. "You shot him without even looking!"

"My men always said I had eyes in back of my head. I just killed your boss, didn't I?"

"It doesn't matter." The woman was unconcerned by the turn of events. "He was an annoying, evil man. We'll worry about him later." She smiled, "Now Colonel, shall we continue our questioning?"

Hogan smiled back. "Right where we left off." The woman and Hogan found themselves entangled on the sofa when …

Thwack.

It took several seconds for Hogan to realize that he had fallen out of his bunk.


	2. The Only Thing We Have to Fear

"So, what are you afraid of, Kinch?" The men of Barracks two were having a bull-session. Somehow the discussion had deviated into a revealing look into some of their darkest secrets. Several of the men looked up. There was no possible way the calm, collected sergeant had any phobias.

Surprisingly, Kinch responded. "Besides getting shot by the Germans? I'll tell you a secret. I was always afraid of taking tests."

Carter, who was seated at the table with Newkirk, playing cards, guffawed. "Tests, you're kidding. Well, tests are really easy you know, if you know the subject. You just go in and sit down and answer the questions…."

"Carter! Let the man finish." Newkirk shook his head in exasperation.

"I always knew the subjects," Kinch said quietly. "But when it came down to taking the actual test, I would freeze. My stomach would tie up in knots, I'd start sweating and I'd forget everything. How about you, Newkirk?"

"Me? I don't want to say," he mumbled.

"Go ahead, mon ami. We won't laugh." There was no point in asking LeBeau. Everyone knew he would faint at the sight of a paper cut.

"Well," Newkirk decided to give up and join in the conversation. "I'm a city lad, you know. Born and raised in the East End. Not much of a chance for recreation and trips. I'm afraid of the water. That's why I joined the RAF instead of the Navy."

Carter looked at him sympathetically. "Can you swim?"

"Barely," he responded. "I wonder if the Colonel has any of these phobias."

"I don't think the Colonel is afraid of anything, Newkirk." Carter took another card from the deck. "I mean he's the Colonel."

"Snakes, I'm afraid of snakes." Hogan had overheard part of the conversation. "They give me the creeps. Can't even stand looking at them in a zoo."

The men in the barracks couldn't help but laugh. "All right, knock it off." Hogan asked Carter if he had any phobias he would like to share with the rest of the men.

Carter fidgeted in his seat. "Well, it's kind of embarrassing, but I get really scared if I have to speak in public."

That surprised everyone.

"Well, I'll be…" Newkirk exclaimed.

"Gin." Andrew Carter triumphantly threw down three jacks.

Stunned, Peter Newkirk grimaced. "That's the fourth straight game you've won, mate." He tossed his losing hand on the table.

Carter grinned. "Just my lucky day, I guess." He started his tally. "Let's see, you owe me two packs of cigarettes, one bar of soap, two chocolate bars and a razor."

"Who taught you how to play this ruddy game anyway?"

"Um," Carter mumbled. "You did!"

Knowing that there was no point in continuing the conversation, Newkirk laughed and gathered up his cards.

Carter accepted the congratulations of the rest of the men in the barracks. It was time to end the game anyway. He had intended to head down into the tunnels to finish some projects he had been working on. Leaving the conversation about phobias behind him, Carter headed underground and got started on checking his supply of detonators. Last thing I need is for one of these babies not to go off. Making himself comfortable, he meticulously inventoried and inspected every piece. The job was tedious but necessary. Tiring, he stood up and stretched and then went back to work.

For the first time in his life, Carter was rendered speechless. Perhaps he didn't hear the Colonel correctly. Yes, that had to be it. All those explosions. He must be going deaf. "Um, I'm sorry, Colonel. Could you repeat that?"

"A lecture, Carter. I need you to give a lecture."

Yes, that's what Carter thought he heard.

"Carter, are you all right? You look a little pale." Concerned, Hogan reached for a chair. "Here, sit down."

Carter sat.

"We'll use the mess hall. That'll hold the most men." Hogan was plotting. He began to pace. "Of course, we'll have to make up a story to tell Klink." Hogan stopped and looked at Carter. "I'll worry about that. I'll need this done by tomorrow."

Carter, still taken aback by Hogan's request quietly replied, "Yes, sir."

"I knew I could count on you. Get the boys to help you with whatever you need."

Carter left Hogan's office and glumly entered the common room. He immediately saw the stares and questioning looks emanating from his fellow prisoners. Expectantly, they waited for an explanation.

"I, um." Still waiting. "The Colonel wants me to give a lecture, to the entire camp." He had no idea how the Colonel planned to fit close to one thousand men into the mess hall. In shifts?

"What kind of lecture?" asked Kinch.

"Well, he decided that everyone needed to be tutored in basic explosives and demolition preparation and safety."

"C'est beaucoup. Pourquoi?"

"That's a tall order," added Newkirk.

"How's he going to convince Klink to let us use the mess hall for a massive lecture?" Kinch asked.

"I don't know," said Carter. "But, I don't think I can pull this off. I've never given a public speech before. I used to get tongue tied in high school just thinking about oral reports, much less standing up in front of people and lecturing."

"That's a bit of a surprise," replied Newkirk. "You never seem to shut up."

"Newkirk!" admonished Kinch.

"It's all right, Kinch. I know I talk a lot. I just get enthusiastic about stuff, you know. Stuff I'm good at."

"And that's why the Colonel wants you to give the lecture. You're the best demolitions man I've ever seen, Carter," said Kinch.

"Kinch is right," added Newkirk. "Without you mate, we'd have no operation."

LeBeau continued, "No booms, no bangs, no blasts."

Carter abruptly sat down. "I think I'm going to be sick, and I haven't even started talking yet."

"You have to do this, Carter," Kinch said sternly. "An order's an order. Let us know what you need and we'll help you." The three men gathered around their friend and began to coax Carter into planning his presentation.

Somehow, LeBeau had managed to get hold of an easel and paper. Kinch disappeared into the tunnels to fetch some basic demolition equipment, while Newkirk began to coach Carter on presentation skills.

In the blink of an eye, Carter found himself in the mess hall facing a standing-room only crowd of disinterested and rowdy prisoners. The Kommandant had somehow been convinced that Hogan needed to deliver a group hygiene lecture, as per Allied regulations. Sentries were posted at the doors and windows and fake pictures and diagrams were in place just in case.

Colonel Hogan made his way up to the front of the building. "I need all of you to give Sergeant Carter, here, your undivided attention. This lecture he is about to give can mean the difference between life and death."

Carter, hearing this, began to hyperventilate. Newkirk, seeing that Carter was already having trouble, began to rub his friend's shoulders. "Remember, what I told you, mate. Breathe. In and out, in and out. And don't forget that trick."

"Sergeant?" Hogan looked over at the two men. "You ready?"

Newkirk pushed the terrified soldier up front.

"Thanks for coming here tonight. I um, I mean, the Colonel asked me to teach all of you guys about dynamite and bombs and safety." Unsure of himself, Carter looked over at Newkirk for support. Newkirk gave him a 'thumbs up' and Carter unsuccessfully tried to continue. I can't do this. He ran off, only to bump into LeBeau, who quickly pushed him back in front of the crowd. The audience began to get restless and that only added to his misery.

Hogan, who up until now, had no idea his grandiose plan would cause such angst for his demolition expert, quieted the crowd down with a stern look. They meekly settled back down in their seats and waited. Newkirk slipped over to Carter's side and quietly whispered in his ear. Carter nodded and then faced the crowd.

He gulped, stared at the men sitting before him and smiled. A slight chuckle escaped from his lips and he then began to speak. Before long, he became comfortable and started acting like his usual self. Explaining the nuances of wires, dynamite, detonators and connecting the correct do-hickeys to the correct thingamabobs was a breeze. After the lecture was over, however, he almost collapsed in shock. Shock that he had actually spoken in front of a large crowd without fainting.

His friends from Barracks two were overjoyed at his success. "You were great, Carter. I'm proud of you."

"Thanks, Kinch. I couldn't have done it without you guys."

"My little hint worked, hey Andrew?" Newkirk's eyes were twinkling.

"It sure did, boy. As soon as I saw everyone like that, I couldn't help but laugh, and then, well, it all just started flowing out of my mouth."

LeBeau, confused, looked at Newkirk. "What did you tell him to do?"

"Picture everyone in their underwear. Works like a charm, every time." (1) Newkirk proudly looked over at his protégé, who remembering the scene, started to laugh.

Hogan had just finished a call with London, when he heard laughter coming from Carter's area in the tunnels. What the heck is so funny? Heading into the lab, he discovered that Carter had fallen asleep at the table while checking the detonators. Chuckling to himself, Hogan thought at least he's not having a nightmare. Must be quite a funny dream. "Carter, wake up." Hogan started shaking Carter's shoulders.

Startled, Carter woke up. "I'm sorry Colonel. I guess I must have fallen asleep."

"It's okay, we've all been working hard. Get upstairs, you can finish this tomorrow." Hogan headed out towards the ladder.

"Thanks, Colonel. Oh and sir? I was thinking, if you ever want to have a safety lecture, you know, about explosives, for the other prisoners, just in case they have to go out, I'd be happy to do that for you."

Hogan looked at Carter a little strangely at first and then thought, why not? "You know, Carter, that's not a bad idea. A few guys at a time, maybe, but that's not a bad idea."

They both headed upstairs.

********************************************

I actually got this idea from of all things, an episode of "The Brady Bunch." Marcia failed her first attempt at a road test. She was successful on her second try, when Mike Brady gave her the hint used by Carter in this story. After picturing the road test examiner in his underwear, she got over her nerves and passed. And yes, I am truly frightened that one-I actually remembered this story and two- I mentioned "The Brady Bunch "in a footnote. And what's even freakier, when I looked up the episode (I forgot how to spell Marcia) I discovered that Jan, in this episode, actually had a problem with public speaking. I swear, I did not make this up!

P.S. I'm dating myself. Oh well, I don't care.


	3. What AreYou Doing the Rest Of Your Life

One thousand, two hundred and fifty seven. One thousand two hundred and fifty eight. One thousand two hundred and fifty nine. Kinch had been traversing the prisoner's compound trying to work out a personal problem. The barracks were usually occupied and noisy. His radio room in the tunnel was too confining and besides, he was always distracted by work. So, he decided to get some fresh air and go for a walk. Instead of thinking and working out his problem, all he ended up doing was counting the steps between the north guard tower and the mess hall.

"Whatcha up to Kinch?" Carter had been watching the Sergeant pace. This was not normal behavior for Kinch and Carter was concerned.

"I needed to work something out. I thought maybe a walk would help me think, but all I can do is count the steps between buildings." Kinch looked over at Carter. He wasn't angry at the interruption. After all, Carter was just being a friend. "I give up."

"It's none of my business, Kinch. I mean about your problem and all." The two men started walking back to the barracks. Carter continued. "But, I've found if you have a real problem, you can do two things. You can either talk to someone about it or if you're not quite ready for that step, you can do what my parents always told me." Kinch turned and looked at Carter.

"What's that?"

"Sleep on it. My mother always told me things would look better in the morning."

The two men entered Barracks two. It was getting close to evening roll call and in a few hours it would be lights out.

"You know what Carter? I'm going to take your advice and sleep on it. Thanks." Kinch shook Carter's hand.

Surprised, Carter said "You're welcome. I hope it works out for you."

Kinch took a deep breath. Twelve pairs of eyes followed him as he slowly walked towards Hogan's closed door. Pausing, he looked behind him. The other men offered silent support as he gathered the courage to knock.

"Come in, Kinch. Sit." Hogan offered him a seat at the table. "I've been expecting you."

"Thank you, sir." Kinch took a seat and looked at Hogan.

"Something you want to discuss?"

I might as well get this over with. "Um, well I'm thinking of reconsidering."

"Go on."

"Everything."

Hogan stood up and poured himself a cup of coffee. He offered some to Kinch, who shook his head.

"Look, Kinch." Hogan sat back down. "I know this is a big decision. Sometimes orders are easier to take when they're just orders. No questions. No philosophical arguments. Just do what you're told. Obey the brass. But," He took a sip of his coffee and made a face. "This is disgusting. Oh, where was I? The harder thing is when you're given an option. Now you have a responsibility. To yourself, to the men, to the operation. And you have to live with whatever choice you make. And only you can make that choice."

"I think I realize that." Kinch was relieved he refused the cup of coffee. "It's just that I feel that if I go, I'll be letting everyone down. Carter, LeBeau, Newkirk. And what about Baker? Leaving him with all that responsibility."

"Baker can handle it. He's had a great instructor."

Kinch sat quietly, wishing he had something to do with his hands. "That's not all, Colonel. I…" He began to feel the formation of a lump in his throat.

"It's okay, Kinch. You don't have to say anything else" Hogan knew what Kinch was trying to say. His second in command had also been his best friend in camp. Kinch acted as his sounding board. He supported Hogan when difficult command decisions took a toll. He would miss him but, he would not let his personal feelings prevent the Sergeant from taking advantage of the tremendous opportunity offered to him. "Look, have you thought this out? Examined the pros and cons?"

"Yeah, well on one hand." There was a knock on the door.

"That's LeBeau with lunch." Hogan got up and opened the door. "Oh, Louis that smells delicious. What is it?

"A crepe, light as a feather, filled with fresh asparagus in a succulent cream sauce."

"I'm sure you've outdone yourself, this time. What are the rest of the men eating?"

LeBeau beamed. "Merci, mon colonel. It's what I do. The rest? I think they went over to the mess hall for potato soup!" LeBeau looked at Kinch before leaving.

Between mouthfuls, Hogan motioned for Kinch to continue.

"Like you said, I've thought about the pros and cons. The prospect of directing my own operation, well it's something that's hard to turn down. And it would make me feel like I'm really contributing something, you know?"

"You contribute a tremendous amount here Kinch. I really want to make sure you understand how important you are to this operation. I hope that's not why you're leaving."Hogan cleaned his plate and stood up from the table. "You know, no one does a better Klink impersonation."

Kinch managed to let loose a small smile. He looked up at Hogan.

"Sometimes, I feel like I'm just here to parrot back your plans when the guys don't understand what you're saying. And then, I wait."

"Go on." Hogan knew where this was heading.

"I wait for you, all of you to get back. I sit at the radio, knowing that I can't go out on most of these missions. And I know the reason. But it doesn't make it any easier. I feel…" Kinch tried to find the right words. "Underutilized."

"Like I said Kinch, you are and always will be vital to this operation. Remember that. But the brass also knows your talents and they feel that you can contribute elsewhere by tapping you for bigger and better things. I won't stand in your way." Hogan stood up. "I asked you about looking at the pros and cons. Are there any reasons not to go?"

Kinch got up from the table and leaned against the bunk. "You know, Sir, sometimes when you overanalyze things it makes it harder to come to a decision." Hogan nodded. "But, yeah. I've looked at the cons. Besides leaving all of the guys. God, you're like family. It's been so long. You know, Colonel, I know I'll miss Schultz … and this is scary, I think I'll even miss Klink."

Hogan stared. "You're joking."

Kinch laughed. "Well, maybe just a little. The other thing is. I don't know how to put it, but I just have this nagging feeling that the war will be over soon. I'll bet it doesn't last much longer than six or nine months."

"There's no way of knowing that," Hogan replied.

"But if that's true, it would seem silly to leave now, wouldn't it?"

"No one knows the future, Kinch." Hogan walked over to his friend. "This is hard, but I trust you to come to the right decision. You'll do what's best for you. And we'll all support you, no matter what. Just remember that."

Kinch headed for the door. "Thank you, Sir. I'll let you know what I decide by this evening." He left Hogan's office. The twelve pairs of eyes followed him as he headed for his bunk. I thought Louis said they were all at the mess hall. Weird.

He lay down and stared at the bottom of the top bunk. Time to make a decision, James. You can't put this off any longer.

"Ivan, Ivan wake up." Berlie shook her husband. His tossing and turning had kept her awake. "You were dreaming about leaving the show again, weren't you?"

"Yeah, I guess I was. I'm sorry. Did I wake you?"

"Don't worry, it's all right. Ivan, you know you made the right decision to leave. You could have been stuck there manning that radio for another three or four years." Berlie kissed her husband and rolled over.

"I hope you're right. I just have this nagging feeling…."

A/N Ivan Dixon left Hogan's Heroes after the fifth season to pursue a directing career. He was still married to Berlie Ray Dixon, his wife of 54 years, when he passed away in March of 2008.


	4. I'd Rather be at the Palladium

"All right. Does everyone understand their part?" The entire barracks was listening intently as Hogan reviewed another one of his convoluted schemes. "Blimey, I don't know how we're going to pull this off." Newkirk was as usual standing next to Carter, casually smoking a cigarette.

Carter nodded in agreement. "Gee, I don't know either Newkirk. I thought the bit with the tent and the balloon and the basket weaving was a little much, but this?" The other members of Barracks two, who were actually trying to pay attention, schussed the two enlisted men.

Hogan pulled down a map hanging from the bunk frame and continued with his lecture. "Our final move needs a volunteer." Newkirk suddenly began to shrink in size and tried to look inconspicuous. Hogan began to glance through the crowd.

"Not me, not me," Newkirk pleaded silently. "Oh, please pick someone else this time."

"Aha!" Hogan's voice was triumphant. "Newkirk, thanks for volunteering." The other men sighed with relief as they pushed the Londoner forward.

"Sir," Newkirk replied, "I really don't think this is my cup of tea, Sir."

"Nonsense," Hogan replied. "You're the best man for the job. Your disguises are top-notch. You'll be no match for the Germans outside the gates."

"But, Sir," Newkirk surprised himself as he suddenly found the wherewithal to protest. "I've already impersonated a doctor, a USO dancer, old ladies, Gestapo agents, Wehrmacht officers, Abwehr officers and Hitler's secretary." Defiantly, he added. "Someone else could use the practice, Sir."

Newkirk's cheek rendered Hogan speechless. This reaction gave Newkirk the confidence to carry on with his protest. Everyone stared as he continued. "What about, LeBeau? He's small; the costume would be a better fit. Or Kinch, he never gets out. I know…Carter's the perfect person for the job."

"Hey, wait a minute." Carter was not going to get roped into anything. "I'm in disguise all the time. That's not fair."

"Oh, bloody hell, Carter. All you do is slap on a mustache, prance and yell and…"

"It's not that easy, Newkirk and you know it!" Carter became defensive. "Playing a lunatic takes a lot of talent, and it takes a lot out of a person, too."

"Knock it off, you two!" Hogan had seen enough. "No more of this feuding. We're a team. Remember?"

The group quieted down. "That's better." He looked over at Newkirk, who had now taken on the appearance of a disheartened puppy. "Newkirk, my boy…" Hogan moved next to the British corporal. He placed his hand around Newkirk's shoulder.

Here it comes, Newkirk thought. He's going to use that voice on me. The voice that could convince an Eskimo to buy snow. The voice that could convince an Egyptian to buy sand. The voice that… "Stop that!"

"Who are you talking to Newkirk?" asked LeBeau.

Kinch chimed in. "Hearing things?"

"No, I'm listening," he quickly replied. He was already beginning to cave. He could feel it.

"We'll have the boys over in Barracks fifteen create a diversion."

"What type of diversion, Colonel?" asked Kinch.

"Good question. What haven't we done lately?" asked Hogan.

Carter started counting diversions off on his fingers. "Just this month, sir, we've had a football game, volleyball game, and a boxing match. We let the dogs loose last week and then there was the dairy diversion."

"Oh, right, that was a good one." Hogan chuckled, remembering the herd of cows that had mysteriously appeared in camp one morning.

"I can pretend I'm sick, Colonel." Louis offered his services while chopping some vegetables. "That would upset Schultz, if it looks like I can't cook."

Hogan snapped his fingers. "That's perfect. We'll get started," he paused to check his watch, "at say 1600." Suddenly, he remembered something. "Newkirk, when Schultz comes in to check on Louis, you'll sneak out and go under the wire."

Without enthusiasm, Newkirk responded, "yes, Sir."

"Great, I'm glad you're excited about this." Hogan slapped Newkirk on the back. "Boys, get him ready."

"Come on mon ami, we've got to get you dressed up." LeBeau began to usher Newkirk down into the tunnels where all of the uniforms and costumes were stored.

Newkirk glumly thought of all the things he could have been doing at this moment. Performing at the Palladium, demonstrating magic tricks in Hyde Park, shopping for his mum on Portobello Road. Swiping wallets from haughty rich shoppers down by the West End. No, he had to do it. It was his duty, as a prisoner and a RAF corporal to obey orders from his commanding officer, no matter how weird. Besides, he could never turn the Colonel down.

"Regardez. Il est magnifique!" Louis ushered the newly doffed Newkirk into the common room. Looking like an overdressed penguin in an ill-fitting tuxedo, the scared Corporal showed himself off to his admiring associates.

Hogan approved of the transformation beset upon the petrified Englander. "Newkirk, try not to mess up your suit when you go under the wire. Don't lose the car keys and remember, Newkirk. Don't keep Frau Linkmeyer waiting."

Newkirk sat suddenly up in bed. Sweating profusely, he tried to calm his rapidly beating heart.

"Nightmare again, Peter?" Carter was sympathetic. All the men suffered from nightmares.

"You can say that, Andrew, but I think I'm all right now."

"Good." Carter mumbled as he turned over.

Cows? That was Newkirk's last thought as he fell back asleep.


	5. It's Hard to Find Good Help Nowadays

Thanks for looking this over Janet!

"Back, back, back, back, back."

"Schultz, what are you doing? These are my customers; you can't treat them like that!" LeBeau glared at his doorman.

"I'm sorry, LeBeau. They need to stand in line and in the right order before entering the restaurant."

"Well, if you can't do your job right, I'll send you to the kitchen and you'll be drying the dishes that Klink just washed!"

"These French, only the English know how to queue up properly," Newkirk muttered. Carter snickered.

"Never mind. We're opening in fifteen minutes. Everyone to their places. Vite, vite." LeBeau shepherded his employees inside. He then paused on the way to the kitchen to blow his beautiful Marya a kiss, fortunately not noticing that she had her sights set on the handsome maître d'in the corner.

"LeBeau seems a little frazzled this evening," Kinch noted. He and his fellow waiters agreed. Hogan managed to extricate himself from Marya's grasp and walked over to his men. As maître d', he had to make sure plans were in place for the evening and that everything, from the napkin folding to the Caesar salad would run smoothly.

"I'll check on LeBeau," he said. You men seat the customers if I'm not back in ten minutes. Got that? And no coming after me."

"Yes, sir." Carter, Newkirk and Kinch watched the clock nervously, hoping that Hogan would return in time for the seating.

Hogan stealthily snuck into the kitchen. Sidling up to LeBeau, he whispered, "Everything all right Corporal? The boys and I noticed you seem a little tense."

"It's my help, mon Colonel; they are useless!"

Meanwhile, back in the dining room, Kinch, Carter and Newkirk were anxiously watching the clock and counting down the minutes until seating time. Schultz, who was by now apoplectic at the thought of a missing crew member, came into the dining room. He accosted the increasingly nervous waiters. "Where is Hogan? Please tell me he will be back in time. You know everyone needs to be here on time!"

"Don't worry, Schultz. He'll be here. Go back to your post." Kinch attempted to guide Schultz to the door.

Back in the kitchen, LeBeau was attempting to inspect the dinner preparations. Hogan was trying to help, but he just kept getting in the way.

"Non, non, non. Le poisson is done before le jambon. Le poulet is done après le soufflé. Watch the crêpes. Klink, get the lobster out of the dish water."

"Ouch!"

"Who said that?" LeBeau looked up.

"I...I did," stammered a terrified sous-chef.

"Ouch? I don't want to hear ouch. What happened?" LeBeau walked over to the counter and observed the sous-chef holding up his left hand. Blood was dripping down his index finger.

'It's nothing, monsieur. The knife slipped and I…."

As soon as he saw the blood, LeBeau turned pale and started to fall. Fortunately, Hogan was there to catch him before he hit the ground.

"Louis, Louis," Newkirk was slapping LeBeau on the face,"Come on, mate, wake up."

LeBeau let out a soft moan and tried to open his eyes. He felt weird; as if he had been drugged. Slowly, he came to, and discovered Newkirk and Carter standing over him. Last thing he remembered, he was cooking dinner for Klink and some generals.

"What happened?"

"You accidentally drank one of the spiked glasses of wine.," Carter said. "The one with the pills."

"Blimey, Louis, you had us scared! It took us twenty minutes to wake you up!"

LeBeau suddenly stood up and, in a panicked voice, shouted, "the dinner!"

"It's all right," replied Carter, "Newkirk and I had everything under control, and we got the plans."

LeBeau sighed in relief. "We better keep this quiet. If the Colonel finds out he'll be furious!"

Newkirk and Carter nodded their heads in agreement.

"Oh, and guys?"

"Yeah, Louis?"

"If I ever ask you to work for me in my restaurant after the war, say no."


	6. Music Maestro Please

Klink, like many amateur musicians, had an extremely overblown opinion of his talent. Of course, this lack of denial was only supported by Colonel Hogan's ceaseless attempts to inflate Klink's ego. His latest scam culminated in Klink thinking his quartet was being recorded and that the record would be sent to a person who could get Klink a recording contract. Of course, Klink had no idea the recording taking place occurred in the recreation hall and captured a high level meeting of German generals. Klink happily thought his performance would be sent to the English corporal's uncle, the talent scout. It had never occurred to Klink to question why a British citizen would be willing to represent a German, who was holding his dear nephew prisoner, either. And so, the Kommandant happily retired for the evening…

"Schultz! Repoort!"

Klink, his conductor's baton securely fixed under his left arm, was standing in the rear of the auditorium. He strutted down the center aisle towards the stage and, thrusting his head forward, glared at his charges.

They all stared at him with disinterested expressions. And what was worse, they were disheveled. This would not do. In fact it was a disgrace.

"Colonel Hooogaaan!"

"Here!" The rest of the group snickered. Klink stomped forward. The Colonel was hidden in the rear in the percussion section. He was seated at a large drum set and was nonchalantly flipping his drumsticks.

"Hooogaaan what is the meaning of this?" Klink waved his arm at the rest of the orchestra. LeBeau was at the player piano, the large tear in his sweater clearly visible to the audience. Baker had been assigned to the bass, and instead of warming up with scales, he was playing a swing beat, every so often stopping to twirl the instrument. Sergeant Carter was polishing a trumpet with his gloves on, for some reason, while Hogan's second, that Sergeant Kinchloe, was missing from his seat as first violinist. Other prisoners were at their spots, but they were out of uniform. Instead of tuxedos, they all seemed to be wearing a variety of olive green drab.

Klink repeated his question. "Hogan, what is the meaning of this? You are out of formation. "

Hogan got up and meandered over to the front of the stage. He stood head to head with the Kommandant.

"Ah, Colonel," he whined. "This is the third rehearsal you've called in 24 hours. Have a heart, sir; you're too tough on them. Look at them, sir," he turned and, on cue, the men started coughing, falling asleep in their seats and playing their instruments out of tune. "Look at them, they're exhausted. " Hogan gazed doe-eyed into Klink's face and pouted.

"If I may, sir?" It was the English corporal who had been assigned to the triangle. He couldn't play anything, but seeing that it was his uncle, Klink was forced to find him an instrument. "Me uncle, 'e's in the business. 'E says the artists union allows for breaks, every 'alf 'our. 'Ere, it says so right 'ere in this contract." Newkirk pulled a wrinkled piece of paper from his pants pocket. "And lunch."

"Lunch? We have no lunch."

"Oh! I'll be happy to get it, sir." Hogan started to walk out.

"Hooogaaaan! Come back here! You're a prisoner. Schultz?"

"Jawohl, Kommandant."

"See to lunch and see that the prisoners stay in their orchestra section."

"Jawohl, Kommandant." Schultz turned on his heels, spoke to another guard and then turned to Colonel Hogan. "Please, Colonel Hooogaaan. Don't make any trouble. Go back to your drums."

"Well, okay. But I offered to make the run." Hogan, insulted, headed back to his drum set.

"Attention. Attention." Klink tapped his music stand. "Everyone." The prisoners had taken comfortable positions and were chatting with each other.

"Quiet!" Hogan stopped the bantering.

"Thank you."

"No problem."

Klink raised his baton and prepared to conduct. "Our first piece, Wagner."

Hogan sprung up. "Kommandant, I protest. This is in direct violation of the Geneva Convention: Article 12, Section 3, Subsection 8, Paragraph 2. No prisoners should be forced to participate in an orchestration of Hitler's favorite composer."

Disgusted, Klink tore off the sheet of music and threw it on the floor. "Very well, Colonel. You win. What would be your pleasure? Joplin? Sousa? Berlin? Porter?"

"Ooh! I like that one," Carter piped up. "We'll take a vote! Men?" Fifty voices at once drowned out Klink's pleas.

Hogan was back at his drums. "That's very generous of you , sir." Ba dum bum. "But that's not necessary. Your orchestra, your choice."

"Very well, then. Klink adjusted his monocle and looked through his music. "Ah. Chopin. The piece is the Minute Waltz."

"I don't know how to play that, Kommandant!"

"Use the think system."

"The what?"

"Never mind." Klink raised his baton and the orchestra members readied their instruments.

"Wait!" Hogan again stood up.

"Hogan, what is it now?"

"No time for a minute waltz. Late for roll call."

"Fine. 30 seconds."

Satisfied, Hogan sat back down. Ba dum dum.

"Hooogaaaan! Will you stop with the drum rolls!"

"Sorry, sir."

"Again." The orchestra began playing and let out a sound that would have elicited a surrender by any army within hearing distance. Schultz covered his ears and Klink basically threw down his baton and cried.

"You look terrible, sir. Bad night?" Hogan had barged into Klink's office to bargain for more white bread or something equally mundane, Klink supposed.

"Hogan, what is it that you want?"

"More white bread."

"I gave you more white bread last week, in exchange for snow removal."

"We wanted marmalade, sir. Butter is so boring." Hogan grabbed the chair and plopped himself down. He began to reach for the cigars and had his hand slapped. "Ooh. Testy. You need to relax, sir."

"Hogan, leave me alone."

"The bread?" Hogan grabbed a couple of pencils and began drumming them on the desk.

"No bread. No marmalade. Hogan, what are you doing?" Klink reached over and grabbed the pencils.

"Sorry. Force of habit." Hogan stood up. "More electricity? Say, an extra half hour, and we'll chop some wood."

"Out!" Klink stood up and pointed at the door.

"All right. I'm leaving." Hogan began to walk out and turned. "You know, sir. Try listening to some music. It will calm you down."

Klink watched the Colonel leave and then walked over to the small record collection he kept in his office. Perhaps Hogan was correct. Music was soothing. He made his choice, removed the vinyl album from the jacket, put it on the turntable and turned on the machine. The sound of Brahm's In Stiller Nacht filled the air and spilled out into the outer office. Hogan, who had been having a short "conference" with Hilda, Klink's secretary, paused as he heard the music.

"I never thought he would listen to my suggestion. Surprised he didn't put on Wagner," he commented.

"He never listens to Wagner." Hilda replied. "Unless someone important is here."

Hogan digested that bit of information and increased his opinion of Klink one notch. He turned back towards the door to the Kommandant's office and slowly opened it several inches. Klink, his eyes closed, was leaning back in his chair, his feet resting on his desk. Holding a pencil, he was conducting an imaginary orchestra.

Hogan quietly closed the door. "Music soothes the savage beast," he whispered. Hilda giggled.

"Come back later," she said. "He may be more agreeable then."

"You can count on it." Hogan winked at the secretary, then left the office. Walking back to the barracks, he plotted his next unreasonable request. This time, he decided, he would push for pumpernickel.


End file.
